


Because You Smell Like Home (And Your Love’s Still There)

by sleeplessink



Series: I Built My Life Around You [2]
Category: Legacies (TV 2018), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, F/M, Gen, Landon has a mom + Handon childhood friends AU, but i have grown too fond of this AU too fast, listen i’m not even sure this whole thing is structurally sound, so you’re just gonna have to deal with all these headcanons i’ve made
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessink/pseuds/sleeplessink
Summary: In rare moments, it will overwhelm him, the extend of what he's ready to do for this one girl. But most days, it feels as easy as breathing. (There's an easiness to the way she fits in his life when it has been eight consecutive years that they haven't left each other's side.)ORA series of scenes throughout the 5th season of The Originals in a world where Hope and Landon are childhood best friends.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> An introduction of sorts to this universe in the POV of Landon’s mom can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19765996l), in case that was something that could interest you!

"I’m gonna go find my dad," Hope tells him while they're doing their homework in her room one night.

He's in the middle of writing a really strong conclusion for his essay on the influences of the supernatural on Jewish traditions, so a beat passes before Landon does a double take. 

"—You're gonna what now?"

His own memories of the man are vague: the confidence that emanated from him, the way he crouched down to talk to him, knowing he was very old and very strong because Hope had told him so over colouring books in the middle of the woods. He knows most of Klaus Mikaelson through Hope's whispers: the longing and hurt she's confessed to in the middle of the night when she could not sleep, the tales she's told him with a sad smile during the day, the bitterness that's been seeping through when he's come up in conversations during the last few weeks. Always in secret, and only to Landon. (She's simply Hope Marshall at the Salvatore School, after all.)

"I have a plan." 

He lays his pencil down and looks up at her intently. This is usually the part where he comes in: she shares the outlines of the plan, he fills in the details, and they execute it together.

"Henry came to see me and asked for vials of my blood. I said yes.”

“Wait, _what?_ Also, gross.” 

Hope hits him on his arm and he lets out a muffled groan. 

Landon had drunk blood exactly once, when they were ten and on a quest to find what supernatural creature he was. He still remembers the taste of expired metal and the nausea that came with. Their mothers had put an end to their experiences as soon as they found out and had grounded them immediately. (In retrospect, not exactly their finest moment.)

“And why’d you start the plan without me?” Landon adds, making a face. 

“It was an ‘in-the-moment’ opportunity, I had to think fast!” 

"Alright, alright," he picks up his pencil again to fiddle with it. "So what's the plan?"

"I give him my blood, he gives me money in exchange for it, and I use it to buy a plane ticket to see my dad."

"What, a simple lemonade stand couldn't do the trick?"

She rolls her eyes.

"I can't have people notice, Landon. They'll ask questions. And if my mom figures it out, I'm done for." A thought crosses her mind, and she frowns. "Also, a lemonade stand would take forever."

"Not if it's really special and pricey lemonade. You could make it magical, like add in—"

_"—Landon."_

"Sorry, sorry, okay. Just one question." Something flickers upon his face, something she can't quite put a finger on, and Hope raises an eyebrow. 

"Are you okay with Henry Benoît becoming a hybrid?"

Her face grows quiet, and she raises her shoulders in a shrug, her eyes shifting to the side. 

"He came to me, you know? Asked for my help. Told me I could make things better for him. If I can do that, and he's willing to provide the money, it's a win for both us, right?" 

Landon's gaze falls, and he thinks of Henry with his frail frame and poetry books being shoved by members of the pack, thinks of his own younger self walking the halls hearing whispers of "human" and "not a real wolf" and contempt jabs about how not having triggered his curse means he isn't really one of them at all. (He isn't a werewolf, but telling people he's a wolf who has yet to activate his gene is safer than the truth, and just enough of a stretch for parents not to ask too many questions that could lead to Triad finding him and his mom. It just isn't enough to keep from the alienation. Like being an unknown supernatural creature isn't isolating enough in itself.) 

When he meets her eyes, Landon notices her face brimming with anxiety and ready-to-spew arguments, and he realizes he’s left her hanging for a beat longer than he should have. 

"Right,” he answers promptly, and clears his throat. “But first, you need to get a passport. So I'd say use the money for that first."

A sigh of relief falls from her lips at the awaited response.

"Of course. I didn't even think about that."

"That's why you need me," Landon grins at her. "Also, maybe tell Henry to... die discreetly?" he grimaces at the words. "He might know about you being a tribrid because he's from the Crescent Pack, but the rest of the school still thinks you're just Hope Marshall, witch extraordinaire."

She rolls her eyes again, but with a smile at the edge of her lips this time. 

"And, you know," he shrugs. "Secret identities."

They exchange a knowing look, one that speaks of false family names and parts of themselves nobody knows, and she nods.

"I will."

A beat passes, and Landon's eyes suddenly light up. 

"But you know what, you getting caught might not be too bad.” 

“So the entire school can know who I am?" she raises an eyebrow.

“No,” he shakes his head. “They don’t have to know where the blood came from. Only Mr. Saltzman has to know."

Hope frowns, but curiously tilts her head to the side nonetheless. 

“If you get expelled, you won’t have to sneak out of school. Just sneak out of your room."

"Less magical security measures," she completes, her eyes lighting up in understanding.

"Exactly."

"Nice," she grins, and Landon meets her smile.

"So do you want me to look into passport prices and flights?" he asks.

"Sure, but don't forget to use incognito mode."

"What do you think I am, an amateur?"

She throws her eraser at him in response, and Landon laughs as he picks it up from the floor.

* * *

“He jumped out of a _window_. I told him to be discreet and he f—“

“—Hope.”

“And the memorial library! Of all places, he—“

_“—Hope,”_ he places his hands on her shoulders, and her pacing around his bedroom floor comes to a halt.

“We talked about this, remember? Less magical security measures,” Landon lets his hands come back down to his sides. “This can be a good thing.” 

She lets out a huff.

“Everyone’s going to ask questions. They’re going to figure out who I am, Landon.”

“I’ll figure out something,” he shrugs. “Start a rumour, come up with really logical reasons why he survived the fall, something. Leave that up to me. You complete your part of the plan, okay?” 

A hesitant smile makes its way onto her lips.

“You _are_ really good at coming up with explanations that sound too complicated to question.” A beat passes. "Nerd.” 

“Okay, ouch," he takes a step back and feigns a wounded look. "Unwarranted and uncalled for. Also, rude.” 

Hope gives him a real grin this time, and he flashes her a smile, satisfied that his theatricals fulfilled their original intention.

She lets herself sit on his bed, the mattress bouncing up and down at the weight. 

“Mr. Williams told me I’m suspended, by the way. So I’ll be gone for a while.”

“That’s alright,” he shrugs, and sits by her side. “Just keep me updated with texts.” 

“Yeah, of course.”

A silence settles between them.

“Hey, Hope?” he asks quietly, his eyes on the ground. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re sure about this, right?" he frowns, his hand nervously grabbing the edge of his covers. "You finding your dad? Since you being in the same room is supposed to be dangerous and all?”

Hope swallows, her expression heavy suddenly, and nods.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay,” he nods in response, because that's all he needs, really. Three words and a nod, and he's already there ready to follow her to the ends of the world.

In rare moments, it will overwhelm him, the extend of what he's ready to do for this one girl. But most days, it feels as easy as breathing. (There's an easiness to the way she fits in his life when it has been eight consecutive years that they haven't left each other's side.)

“Anyway. I have to go to the headmaster’s office. Gotta get scolded and receive the extend of my punishment,” she raises her eyebrows at him and stands up to leave. 

“A real rebel now, huh. What’s that gonna do to my reputation?”

“Make it cooler, obviously.” 

He throws her a pillow, and Hope catches it easily with a grin. 

“I’ll come by to say bye before I leave!” she throws the pillow back at his head before running out of his room.

* * *

Less than a year after he had arrived to the Salvatore School, Hope and Landon had already become best friends.

It helped, that they had practically lived together for two years when they were little, that they were each other's first friend, that they had known of each other before the secret identities, an entire life ago. 

The quiet, elusive Hope Marshall and the new pre-wolf kid had become inseparable in a matter of days, through notes passed in class and games played at recess, through sitting together at lunch and doing homework in the library after class. 

For his tenth birthday, Hope had given him a watch that matched a bracelet of her own. It glowed blue to ask if the other was awake (a feature that was seldom used after they got cellphones), and yellow to both ask for help and point to the other's location (a useful feat when they began to embark in adventures that easily got them into trouble). 

The watch is old now, and worn at the edges, but Landon still wears it around his wrist. Hope calls him a hoarder and she's not exactly wrong, but he has spent years with the entirety of his belongings fitting in a single duffel bag, so he likes to appreciate the luxury of holding on to things simply because they mean something to him. (Also, he has totally seen her own bracelet on her bedside table, so he knows she's only teasing.) 

Landon's putting on his pyjamas when a blue glow starts emitting from his wrist, and he finishes putting on his shirt with a frown before pressing on the watch to stop the light. 

A moment later, Hope stands right in front of his bed. 

_"Jesus Christ,"_ he jumps and grabs ahold of his bed frame. 

"You're Jewish," she frowns.

"Loosely," he half-shrugs, catching his breath. "Just enough that I'm not taking anybody's name in vain." He smirks, and gestures at her. "And you're... here?" 

"Loosely," she shoots him a smirk in return. "Astral projection spell. Mom confiscated my phone for the night, so I can't FaceTime you. Thought I'd give you a heads up before I came," she shimmies her wrist, showing her own bracelet around her wrist.

"Grounded?"

"Massively," her astral body sits herself on his bed, and her face grows quiet. "Well, not that much. She's just making me feel really bad about what I've done." 

"Which is positively worse," he grimaces, sitting next to her. 

"Tell me about it. My mom asked if you were in on it, by the way. I told her no."

"But I _was_ in on it."

"Yeah, but it was my idea. My plan."

"_Our_ plan."

She shakes her head.

"I'm taking responsibility for what I've done. No need to get you in trouble for it."

"Your mom's talk really got through to you, huh?" His eyebrows raise as he grabs a pillow to hug to his chest. (He would have bumped his shoulder with hers, but he still gets unpleasant chills whenever he thinks of that first summer he tried to hug her astral body. He will keep a respectful distance during calls instead of their usual familiar proximity, thank you very much.)

"I would have taken the fall, you know."

"I know."

She presses her lips together before letting out a deep breath. 

"I think I might have made a mistake, Landon. I didn't think it'd be such a big deal but there's a lot of... consequences I didn't think about," she raises her eyes up to the ceiling. "My mom's out there right now cleaning up the mess I made." 

"What kind of consequences?" 

"Like... People don't really like hybrids. They think they're too strong, and dangerous."

Landon can see the worry on her features, can practically feel it emanating from her. His features turn soft and he holds on tighter to the pillow to keep himself from reaching out to her. 

"Hey, we'll figure it out."

She smiles weakly at him. 

"Maybe in the morning. The seven-hour drive next to a furious mom with a silent treatment wore me out." 

"Okay. Text me when you get your phone back?"

"Yeah. Good night, Landon."

"'Night, Hope."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write the entire thing before posting the first chapter, but then I realized how long this was going to be and grew impatient, ha. I've never written a multi-chapter fic before, so I'm super oblivious to pacing; this is going to be a wild amalgam of scenes that pop into my head, so good luck to whomever is willing to tag along for the ride! Let me know what you think, if that strikes your fancy B)


	2. Chapter Two

Landon thinks that in another life, he would be really good at being alone. He had managed quite a few years of his life with only his mother and trees as company, after all.

But Hope had run into his arms on his first day of school at Salvatore, too ecstatic about getting her first friend back to be bothered by the curious glares from the other kids who weren't used to seeing little Hope Marshall so unconstrained. And they really hadn't left each other's side since. 

It's not lonely, exactly, to walk the halls without her. Unsettling would be the better word. Like something's not quite right. Like his body's missing an extension of himself. 

But his legs still work, and it's really not that dramatic, so he carries on. He trains with Mr. Saltzman in the morning, eats lunch by the docks, watches old sci-fi movies before going to bed. (And well, maybe he broods just a little bit, about how there’s no auburn-haired girl by his side teasing or painting or rolling her eyes. But he misses his best friend, alright? He’s allowed.) 

Landon knows what it's like to walk by the pack eating lunch outside, the vampires hoarding together during gym class, the witches practicing spells in the common room. Not being part of any of the groups at school is second nature, at this point. He supposes he's just never noticed that he had come to feel like Hope and him had built a faction of their own, one for self-defined outcasts of sorts. It just doesn't feel like much of a group when he's alone in it. 

It takes two days for him to get news from Hope again. (Not that he was counting, or anything.)

* * *

Thursday, 7:38 PM  
[Hope] hey a lot happened  
[Hope] but i think i’ll make my dad come here instead of trying to get to him (new plan)

[Landon] i’m waiting on that full update!!!!1  
[Landon] and stop making plans without me, call me dummy

[Hope] dummy  
[Hope] :)  
[Hope] use proper punctuation, dummy ;) 

[Landon] stop texting me about grammar and call me (COMMA) dummy

[Hope] FINE, “comma dummy”

* * *

“You’re unbelievable,” Landon shakes his head as he picks up his phone.

“Thanks!”

Landon huffs, but part of him is ridiculously happy to be hearing her voice. 

“Come on, the update! And what’s with all this planning without me?”

Only her breathing answers her, and his teasing demeanour quiets down.

“Hope?” 

“I— yeah. So Henry… doesn’t have a hold on his temper yet. He… he killed someone. A vampire.”

“Holy shit.”

“Y…yeah. They’re mad. The vamps. And the wolves are protective, and it’s a mess, and…” she trails down. _And it’s my fault_, her teeth clench around the words unsaid. 

“What are they going to do?” 

“My mom smoothed things down, a bit. She’ll teach Henry to control himself, and it’ll be okay.” 

He sighs in relief at the other end of the line. 

“Your mom’s a full-on hero, you know that?”

“Yeah. Um, speaking of my mom. I… might have put her in a coffin. Just for a little while.” 

“Hope, what the f—” 

“It’s part of the plan! Look, she’s safe, I have her under a sound sleeping spell, and she has a cloaking spell I wrote myself, she’ll be fine.” 

“Didn’t you just say that she was supposed to help Henry gain self-control?”

“Yeah, and she will, just after my dad comes back. Look, trust me, he’ll make his way to New Orleans when he hears my mom disappeared.” 

“No, I hear you. But Hope, couldn’t you have done that after the whole thing with the vampires and the werewolves quieted down?” 

“I— I guess,” she lets out a sigh, and a beat passes. 

“Ugh, don’t say it. Don’t say that if I’d told you about the plan earlier this could have been avoided.”

“Your words, not mine, Hope.”

“Wipe that smug smile off your face.”

“You can’t even see me right now!”

“I don’t need to see you, I can hear it in your voice.”

He exhales a laugh, and Hope can imagine the exact face he makes then, too. 

“Okay, so what’s next?”

She takes a deep breath. 

“My dad comes home when he hears my mom’s disappeared. And… And I get to see him. Talk to him.”

“And then you release your mom from her coffin.”

She rolls her eyes.

“And then I release my mom from her coffin.”

“She’s going to ground you forever, you know.” 

“She doesn’t know it was me!”

“Thank God. Found a plausible explanation yet?”

“Um, almost. Still working on it.”

“Text me what you’ve got, I’ll figure something out. Oh, and by the way, rumour has it Henry Benoît jumped out of the library window, and didn't survive the fall. There’s going to be a ceremony at the assembly and everything.”

“…Are you responsible for that rumour?”

“Partially.”

She smiles.

“Thanks, Landon.”

“Hey, any time. I gotta go study for the History of Magic midterm, but keep me properly updated, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go study, you nerd.” 

“Bye, Hope.”

* * *

Friday, 1:15 PM  
[Landon] aced the HOM midterm! facetime me so i can tell you what the exam was about  
[Landon] ps: is he there yet?

Wednesday, 4:45 PM  
[Landon] roman sienna has been skipping school for like two days, rumour has it he has an older (like, michaelangelo-old) online girlfriend he’s going to go meet in florida: thoughts/opinions/comments?  
[Landon] also rick rogers backflipped from the roof to the pool on a dare and broke his leg today, please come back soon to save me from the idiots at this school  
[Landon] my sanity depends on it

Thursday, 2:01 PM  
[Landon] next time you get suspended, pls get me suspended with you  
[Landon] i have no one to whisper witty remarks to in class  
[Landon] i just say them alone under my breath like an idiot and no one’s there to validate my mediocre sense of humour

Friday, 11:37 AM  
[Landon] turns out roman sienna’s mother just forgot to tell the school he was going to be gone for a while (my take is, she actually approves of their inter-generational love story)  
[Landon] also rick rogers healed in like a day and he’s already talking about trying to get thrown through the wickery goal hoops, do you think this dude has a death wish?? should we be worried about him or is he just an idiot or both

Saturday, 10:09 AM  
[Landon] hey not to sound annoying, but is everything okay? 

Saturday, 11:44 PM  
[Landon] i miss you, btw

Sunday, 9:57 AM  
[Hope] hey sorry for not responding, so much happened  
[Hope] i’m headed back tmr (roman’s giving me a lift) i’ll update you then  
[Landon] roman sienna ??????????  
[Landon] alright, get back in one piece 👍🏼, see u tmr

* * *

His knuckles rap on Hope's bedroom door in a familiar rhythm.

"Yeah!" He hears her voice through the wood. 

"So, was Roman Sienna's Renaissance vampire girlfriend from Jacksonville a catfish, after all?" He barges into her room and lets himself sit cross-legged on her bed, a grin on his face. Landon usually hates gossip, thinks it's stupid and the worst use of someone's time. But he may or may not find this rumour particularly hilarious, if only to tease Hope about it.

"Oh," her eyes are suddenly very captivated by the cover of this ancient-looking book on her desk. "Uh, no. He was in New Orleans, actually."

He catches the blush on her cheeks, and raises his brows.

"What was he doing in New Orleans?"

"He heard about Henry... killing himself, and felt really bad about it."

"So he... went to see you?" 

Landon’s confusion grows, and his brain tries to put together mismatched puzzle pieces without success. 

"Well, uh, yeah. I told him Henry was fine, though. Well, he's not, anymore, but—"

Her face falls, but Landon is busy shaking his head as he gets up from her bed to catch it. 

"—Wait you mean he _knows_? About you? And your dad? And Henry?" he asks pressingly, something bothersome growing in his chest. 

"Yeah, he was at my house, and admittedly had a lot of questions, but Landon, Henry—"

"Wait no, back up. You _told_ him?” So he's heard her right, after all. “This is like, a major secret we've been keeping for years. To keep you _safe_, Hope. Why are you so cool with the fact that he knows? And how did he even know where you lived? And why was he in _New Orleans_?" 

“What’s with all the questions? I told you, he felt guilty about all the bullying."

There's annoyance that has crept upon her features, but he disregards it because _how is she not getting this_? 

"So make a shrine for the guy's locker, start an anti-bullying campaign, or write him a poetic eulogy for the school assembly, why does he end up at_ your_ house? Knowing _your_ secret?" 

"Why are you so suspicious of him?" Her voice raises, definitely irked now.

"Why are you _not_?" He answers her at the same volume. "You do realize none of this matches up, right?"

"The school's address book is in the same cabinet as where Mr. Saltzman keeps his liquor, okay? He probably saw Henry's address and mine, and thought he'd stop by on the way, or something. God Landon, what do you have against the guy?"

"This entire situation has 'sketchy' written all over it! And why would you tell him—"

"It's not like I went and told him your secret! It's _my_ secret to tell—"

"Yeah, to keep _you_ safe! And you're out there compromising your safety because what, you think the guy has shiny hair and dreamy eyes?"

Hope swishes her wrist, and her door opens in a clash. 

"_Screw you_, Landon," her voice has returned to a normal volume now, but there's no missing the acidity coating her tone. "You don't get to make my decisions for me.”

"You know what, I was on my way out, anyway," he shakes his head, turning his back as he begins exiting the room. "Clearly you won't hear reason, or see what's literally right in front of—"

The door slams behind him before he can finish his sentence, and he scoffs before stomping his way to his room.

* * *

His phone rings on his bed halfway into his long-winded written rant in his journal.

"Hey Freya," he picks up the call.

"Hey kid."

"Do _you_ happen to know why Hope's been acting like a shapeshifting alien?" he grumbles, leaning his head against the wall. 

"So you've noticed, too. " 

He pauses, knitting his brows. 

"So it _was_… aliens?"

Her laugh echoes through the line.

"If your alien's called puberty, sure."

Landon groans, wrinkling his nose. This is not a turn he wanted this conversation to take. 

"I was actually calling to ask you to keep an eye on her."

He pauses and frowns, waiting for her to continue.

"We're working on finding Hayley, and I know she's really worried."

"Yeah, I bet," Landon steadies his breath and composes his face, like he does every time he lies. He's going to have to ask Hope why she didn't let her mom out of the coffin before leaving, once they make up. But for now, all he has to do is cover for her. 

Freya sighs.

"Hope's going to think it's her fault, that if she hadn't taken her in the first place, this wouldn't have happened. And her dad sent her away, so she's—"

"Wait, _what_?" He straightens up on his bed. 

"Oh, did she not tell you that part? Knowing you two, I thought you might even be in on it. Hope took her mom—"

"No, no I know that part. I mean Hayley got taken for _real_?"

A beat passes where Landon holds his breath. 

"Yes." 

He has to keep himself from swearing under his breath. 

"Do we know where they took her?" he asks, on his feet now, before frantically pacing at the rhythm of his questions. "Do we know _who_ took her? Did they leave any clues behind? Do we know if she's okay? Is _Hope_ okay?" 

He scrambles for his journal and turns to a new page, before grabbing his pen. 

"I thought you were just with her."

"Y-Yeah, our conversation took a... tangent." 

He's grateful she doesn't ask questions.

"We don't know much yet, just that she put up a fight. Klaus and I are doing everything we can." 

He lays his pen down after writing down the information, and guilt churns at the bottom of his stomach at the sudden tiredness in Freya's voice. He was there complaining about something as insignificant as _Roman Sienna_, and he didn't _know_— God, he was awful to Hope. 

"Can I... Can I help? I'm good with research," he offers. 

"Thank you, Landon. But Klaus sent Hope back to keep her safe, especially after finding Henry's body..." she trails off, and his blood freezes. Did she just say Henry's _body_? "I don't want you getting put in danger either."

"Henry's— he, uh, did you say he's..."

"Dead," Freya speaks quietly. "I'm sorry, Landon. I thought you knew."

"Y—Yeah. No, that's alright," he speaks, but his throat is terribly tight, suddenly. He can’t help the thought that a part of the responsibility falls on him, too. "Do you know who did it?"

"Klaus is working on that, too."

He swallows, tries to move the conversation along. 

"So they met, huh? Hope and her dad?"

"Yeah, and that didn't go all too well either."

Man, he hadn't let Hope tell him _anything_. 

"Just keep an eye out for her, will you?"

"I will, Freya. You'll let me know if I can do anything, right?"

"Of course, kiddo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me ? Having no idea what I'm doing with this fic ? More Likely Than You'd Think !  
I'm just here to have a good time at this point B) 
> 
> School's starting tomorrow so I don't know how much I'll be able to write, but I thought I'd post what I have before chaos ensues in my real life~ Feel free to comment, or not; have a good day nonetheless ! x


	3. Chapter Three

[Landon] there's an apology at your door, if you want it

His knuckles knock softly on her door before he lets his arm fall to his side. Despite spending the majority of the year at school since the age of nine, his mother has still raised him with pastries and lessons about never walking into a war zone with empty hands. So as Landon lays his forehead against the mahogany wood, his left-hand holds a small dessert plate, and his mind, the drafts of bullet-point apologies he's written down at his desk earlier. His ears strain to catch any sign that Hope is on the other side, but all he hears is his own breathing. Super-hearing sounds pretty useful just about now, if only to know she's gotten his text.

It feels like he waits for an eternity, going over the main points of his apology in his head, apprehending the possibility that she won't hear him out at all. 

But the door creaks open, slowly but surely, until it reveals Hope sitting on her bed, hugging her knees. 

He takes a deep breath before stepping into her room. 

"Hey,” he holds up the plate in his hand. "I know Declan probably made you some when you went back home, but this bread pudding contains a wholehearted apology as a bonus ingredient," his shoulders raise, "so it may or may not taste just a tiny bit better than the original recipe." 

Landon’s hesitant smile falls when her gaze remains fixed in front of her. Biting his lower lip down, he lays the dessert down carefully in her line of sight and conscientiously sits down at the other end of her bed. 

"I'm sorry, Hope,” he sighs. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

He gathers a breath as he pulls up his own knees to mirror hers. 

”I don't... trust a lot of people. And I definitely don’t trust _Roman Sienna_. But I do trust you.”

At those words, her eyes finally meet his. He forces his own gaze to remain steady.

“Except I didn't act like it. I just acted like a jerk. You were right, okay? You get to make your own decisions, and it was shitty for me to think it was my place to make them for you, or judge you for the ones you made. I just... I just care about you."

Her stare is impenetrable, but he thinks he spots the slightest twitch of her lips. 

"And, well," he exhales, raising his eyes to the ceiling, “I might have been just a little jealous."

Hope’s brows knit curiously. 

"Not in a, uh, weird way," he adds quickly, flustered, when he realizes how that sounds. He clears his throat and looks back into her eyes. 

"You're my best friend, Hope. And we've been each other's secret keeper for the longest of times, and suddenly having someone else know yours felt like I got robbed of that title, you know?” Landon swallows, stubbornly holding her gaze. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way vulnerability uncomfortably scratches at the walls of his chest, but Hope deserves this. She deserves a friend who will apologize in full. “I don't know, it's dumb. I'm dumb, and I'm sorry." An exhale exits his lips. “Okay. I’m done.” 

Silently, with her face still unreadable, Hope lays the plate on her bedside table. Landon freezes and holds his breath as the thought that she truly might not forgive him dawns on him. 

But a moment later, she's crossed the space between them to sit next to him and lean her head against his shoulder, and he lets out the biggest sigh of relief. 

“You are dumb. We been knew," she mumbles, and Landon laughs, letting out a good-natured _‘ouch’_. “But you're also my best friend, and forgiven, in case that wasn't clear. Also, you're helping me eat this bread pudding, right?"

Landon takes a moment to lean his head atop of hers, just breathing in the familiarity of her presence next to him. 

He had missed her. It felt like something in him always did, when she wasn’t around. 

“I may or may not have brought a second fork just in case you’d say that.”

“I knew it.”

* * *

Landon doesn’t want to ruin this, the comfortable silence, the ease in which they rest as they take bites of the bread pudding on her bed. But the unsaid words hang above their heads, looming, and he knows it’s just a matter of time before they’re addressed. The last bite disappears in Hope’s mouth and Landon’s fork clacks as he lays it down on the plate.

“I talked to Freya earlier.”

She freezes, her own fork hanging mid-air.

“I’m sorry I didn’t let you tell me yourself. But… I’m here now, if you want to talk about it.”

Hope takes a deep breath as she puts her fork down next to his, and moves the plate back on her bedside table. He looks at her with nothing but patience in his eyes, as she leans her back against the wall and clutches her stuffed animal to her chest. 

When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet.

“I can’t shake the image of his body out of my head. The gaping hole in his chest, and the rope around his neck, and the grey of his skin, and the way he was hanging from that balcony, and— “ Her voice dies down to a shaky breath, and she whispers, eyes low, “It’s my fault. Henry’s dead because of me.” 

“Hey,” he murmurs softly with furrowed brows, leaning his head forward in an attempt to catch her gaze. “If you’re going to take responsibility for your actions, so am I. If any of this is on you, then it’s on me too, okay?” 

“It was _my_ blood that started this whole thing, Landon,” her eyes shift to the side. 

“Yeah, and it was _our_ plan, and _his_ decision to ask you about it. You’re not the one who took his life. It’s on them, whoever the… killer is.” 

Hope’s still not meeting his eyes, but he understands. The weight is still pressing against his chest, too, no matter how logically sound his words are. So he swallows, and lightly lays his hand atop her wrist. 

“It’s _our_ burden, okay? You and me.” 

She bites down her lips, and nods once, slowly.

“Okay.” 

He squeezes her wrist once before taking back his hand.

“And we’ll find your mom. I’ll help. I’ll call my mom— I'm still not too sure what she used to do before she had me but I know she’d find people who didn’t want to be found. And your mom's like, her best friend, so she'll drop everything to help. We'll find her, Hope.”

"It was so stupid.” She holds onto the stuffed rabbit a little tighter. “All of this for a dad who doesn't even want me in his life.” 

There would have been bitterness in her tone, a week ago. But it’s a muted ache that is found there instead, and Landon’s chest pangs almost immediately in response. 

"No offense to your dad — especially because he could probably kill me in like, a heartbeat — but anyone who doesn't want to know you or be with you is out of their _mind_. You're the coolest person ever,” he pauses for half a second before adding in the smallest of whispers, “_Hope Andrea Mikaelson_.”

It almost feels like a spell, the way those three hushed words make a smile slowly bloom across her face. The knot that was in his throat at her dejected expression earlier unties smoothly at the sight. Her face suddenly takes a mischievous look, and she shoots: “So you finally admit it, huh. I _am_ the coolest person you know.”

“Shut up,” Landon snorts, but collects himself fleetly. “I’m serious though. Anybody would be lucky to know you, Hope.”

Instead of deflecting this time, her head simply finds his shoulder again, and that’s all the response he needs.

(Words can feel inconsequential, when two people have been attached at each other’s hips for this long.) 

_Thank you_, it says, in a way her voice wouldn’t be able to convey right now. 

He leans his head against hers.

_Always_, it answers, with all the sincerity in the world.

And that’s all the response she needs.

* * *

The search begins the next day.

Landon’s mother can be hard to reach sometimes, when she’s on a roll of consecutive waitressing shifts or when she goes off the grid for a little while in a town with capricious signal. So he leaves her a voicemail with a succinct but comprehensive summary of the situation, just like she would like it, and asks her to call him back as soon as she can. 

They’re aware that a hundred witches are also working on the case back in New Orleans, but they hold on to the sliver of hope that Hope being the one who put the spell in the first place might not make them _completely_ useless. 

They hit the library like kids on a mission — which, they are, a little bit. They played spies plenty of times when they were younger, but the thought of Hayley being held hostage somewhere presses on the back of both of their necks. The feeling of being heroes foiling the plans of extraterrestrial bad guys seems so, so far away. 

Splitting up seems like the obvious way to gain productivity, so Hope gets a head start by grabbing the most pertinent books regarding locator spells and heading to her room where ingredients are readily available, while Landon assiduously browses the shelves to find additional books that could be of help.

He has a small pile growing on his self-designated table when his cellphone buzzes in his pocket.

[Hope] aunt freya’s here (she knows, but she’s going to help)  
[Hope] meet us at the old mill when u can!

* * *

Landon’s a little out of breath when he arrives at the spot in the forest, having run there with a backpack full of books. He has terrific cardio since he trains every single day (a habit his mother instilled in him, mostly for his safety), so Hope wonders how fast he’s sprinted here, exactly.

“Hey kiddo,” Freya greets him with a smile.

“You know I’m fifteen now, right?” he wrinkles his nose at the recurrent nickname, his voice still a little breathy.

“Yep. Do you know how old _I_ am?”

His mouth opens to answer, but Landon blanches when his thoughts fly around a number over a thousand. 

“Still a kid. Got it,” he nods curtly, humbled.

Freya chuckles and ruffles his already messy hair. 

“_Hope_ here told me all the books in her room were about a project on ‘examining the relation between regional magic and sociopolitical and economic statuses’.”

“Nice,” he grins, lifting his hand for his best friend to give him a high-five. Hope had a tendency to give things away too fast — and he’d saved her from getting into trouble from that habit countless of times — but that was a _brilliant_ excuse. 

“She didn’t buy it,” Hope makes a face, giving him her palm to hit anyway. 

“Yeah, but that’s a killer thesis though. Are you planning on using that, because I’ve been looking for a subject for this extra credit project and—“

Both Mikaelson women raise an eyebrow at him.

“—Right. Bad timing. Sorry.”

The towering trees are left behind as they enter the run-down building. Freya takes a look around the breached wooden walls letting in the light, the occasional abandoned pieces of furniture and the climbing plants that have made themselves at home, and raises her eyebrows.

“Pretty,” she comments, “In a creepy, ‘don’t-get-caught-alone-here-at-night' kind of way.” 

“The Saltzman twins found it, like, two years ago.”

“Our current theory is that it’s their evil mean girl lair,” Landon adds, and the two teenagers exchange a smile.

Freya's smile turns into a scoff as she spots the dejected empty beers. 

“Or they share their father’s love for the bottle.” 

She takes a breath and grabs a chair, bringing it in front of her niece.

“Alright. You want to find your mom, you gotta start with how she was taken in the first place.”

“I already told you. I don’t know. Someone followed me.”

Freya grabs bowls that are lying around, lays them down on the chair, and says: “Or there was a problem with your cloaking spell. Maybe you missed a step, left a loophole open.” 

Hope and Landon speak at the same time, with crossed arms and a furrowed brows, respectively.

“No, of course I didn’t.”

“No, she didn’t.”

They had gone over this, already. The first thing they had done was go over the spell she had cast, and it was really only by precaution because Hope had been terribly meticulous while casting it in the first place.

“Fine,” Freya breathes at the look they both give her. “You were followed. Then we retrace every step you took. A deconstructing spell magnified with a cup of blood in each bowl will give us that.”

She hands her niece a knife.

“I know how it works, aunt Freya,” Hope presses her lips together, grabbing the blade. 

“Uh,” Landon interjects, “Maybe sterilize — or at least disinfect — that knife before you cut yourself? I know you’re practically invincible, but septicemia is _very_ much a real thing.”

Freya shoots him an amused look and Hope rolls her eyes, but murmurs an_ ”ignalusa”_ to put the knife to the flame nonetheless.

In the end, the charade is short-lived. Just a handful of minutes of the tribrid wincing at the cut and Landon clenching his backpack straps at the sight of his best friend in pain before Hope realizes her aunt doesn’t want to do this spell at all.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she accuses her.

“Landon—“ the older woman turns to him.

His eyes widen.

“—I can go, uh, take a stroll for… fresh air.”

“No, he can stay," Hope shakes her head. "Whatever you're going to tell me, I'm going to tell him, anyway." 

His lips quirk up ever-so-gently at that. 

But Freya shakes her head, still, and Hope hates the look on her face, that mix of sadness and regret that makes her stomach drop down to her toes.

"I know,” the Mikaelson witch speaks quietly. Turning to Landon, she adds: “She'll tell you after, but give us a moment, okay?" 

He nods, face somber, and shoots an encouraging smile at Hope before turning away. His heart is still thudding in his chest as his feet find forest ground. 

"Vincent and Ivy think they learned something. About you."

The voice is strained and far away, but Landon's throat dries up anyway. It takes everything in him not to run back to where his best friend stands.

_"Whatever you're going to tell me, I'm going to tell him, anyway,"_ Hope's voice echoes in his mind.

It's the only thing that keeps his step moving forward.

* * *

Hope texts him later that night, asking him if he's awake so she can tell him what her aunt told her. (He's not, but his ringtone for her is set as the loudest one possible so he can always wake up at the sound of it. It has been that way since she kept on having nightmares and he stopped having his. Hope still thinks that he can’t sleep most nights either, but he’s not planning on correcting her any time soon.)

It's at the docks that they sneak out to, where the moon shines down at the water stretching out in front of them. Surrounded by a silencing spell as a cautionary measure, Hope tells him about Ivy’s tarot card reading, about how she’s predicted to be the downfall of something important, about how everyone is, apparently, afraid of her and what she can do. She mentions how she saw Roman earlier in the evening and told him about this, too. Landon tries not to feel offended that the vampire got to know about everything before he did.

“_I’m_ not scared of you,” he tells her instead, dipping his hand into the lake and waving his fingers through the water. 

“Maybe you should be.”

He looks at her with brows furrowed; the way she’s entirely serious, the hint of vulnerability at the edge of her expression. 

“I know you, Hope. I know you enough that I know I don’t have to be.”

She presses her lips together, and he can see her eyes waver under the moonlight. His heart squeezes inside his chest in response. 

“You can have a lot of power and still be good, you know.” He pauses. “All the greatest superheroes are.”

She snorts, and the tension around them breaks. 

“Nerd,” Hope shoots. 

“Rude,” Landon retorts, taking his hand out of the water to splash some in her face.

She squeals, stunned, before whispering a spell under her breath that throws water to his face directly from the lake, soaking the entire upper half of his shirt. He jumps at the sudden cold permeating most of his upper body, his eyes wide. 

“Cheater!” He protests, his tone the exact same as when she uses magic during the training sessions she joins him on occasionally. But she’s too busy clutching her stomach in laughter at the expression of pure shock that had adorned his face two seconds prior. 

He grumbles underneath his breath as he takes the dry part of his shirt to wipe his face, and Hope ignores the way her eyes are immediately drawn to the exposed skin.

“Stop whining, Eeyore,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly instead, and waves her fingers in a spell that dries him in a couple of seconds.

. . .

They find themselves lying down with their backs against the wood of the docks. The stars twinkle above them as Landon’s phone plays some Louis Armstrong softly in the background.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be different,” Hope speaks quietly into the night sky. 

“I know the feeling.” 

It isn’t the same for Landon, not really. But he’s spent years wishing he could just fit in, just be a vampire or a witch or a werewolf, and be done with it. He can understand that much. 

“At least you don’t have to be afraid of burning an entire city to the ground.”

“Yeah. But at least you know exactly who you are.” 

She sighs. 

“I guess you’re right. It’s not really a competition in the end, is it.”

“Yeah, both of our lives are allowed to suck.”

Hope lets out a laugh.

“Both of our lives are allowed to suck,” she repeats with a smile. She swings herself back to a sitting position and rubs her eyes, and Landon follows suit.

“Wanna try your hand at the whole sleeping thing again?” He asks. 

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

He shrugs. 

“I’m always a text away if you need me.” 

“I know,” she replies, and a soft smile finds its way on her lips.

She always has a better time falling asleep after she’s spent time with Landon. That’s what he does, calm whatever tumultuous thoughts fly around her brain. Hope can feel it even now, the way her mind feels soothed instead of on edge like it's been most of the day.

"But I have a feeling I'm going to be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (school? taking all of my time? you bet! thought i'd post what i had already written, because, you know, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯) 
> 
> (totally have an idea of where i'm going but have no idea how i'm going to get there so. well. i guess you'll just have to deal with the chaos until then! thanks for reading and let me know what you think if that's something you feel like doing!)


	4. Chapter Four

The Hollow leaves Hope's body at the age of seven, and somehow something still feels empty. She knows that it's because it has taken her family with it, but sometimes she still wonders if the emptiness comes from being alone inside her skin. (This is a child, much too young to have thoughts such a these. But tragedy doesn't look at age, and life is not always kind. Sometimes it takes and takes and takes. She learns to tame it, this absence, over the years. It’s the only way she learns to survive.)

It takes a little while to settle into her own bones again. She smiles at the other kids at school, listens in class, writes in her little grimoire. She learns what it's like to be a kid again. But on some days she feels older, remains of centuries and centuries of old magic that has once streamed through her veins.

Hope reads about her when she gets a little older. As she looks for ways to get her mom back, she stumbles upon a book about this spirit that had once been inside of her. Inadu, Kre Nan Hun. A witch who had great power bestowed upon her while in her mother’s womb. A child whom the tribe hoped would become a symbol of prosperity. A baby who was born craving power, killing members of her own tribe, with people who wanted her dead.

In a dusty corner of the library, Hope's hands tremble as she closes the book.

She thinks about herself in her mother’s womb, with unforeseen, terrible power. A child who was the Mikaelsons’ hope, her existence both a symbol and a promise. A baby who was born with people wanting her dead. She thinks of herself, at seven, having sent family members away. She thinks of herself, now, being the reason her mother was abducted.

Had the Hollow come inside her body and felt at home there?

She takes a deep breath as she reshelves the heavy manuscript. It does not matter, she tells herself. In the end, it does not matter.

She would do whatever it takes to find her mother, and get her family back together.

* * *

Later, they're in Landon room, with his laptop playing a Star Trek episode in the background while they sift through a pile of books on his bed.

"So, are you guys dating now?"

"What?" Hope's eyes are very concentrated on the page in front of her, but the blush on her cheeks speaks clearly of how she knows exactly who's he talking about.

"Roman Sienna," he answers anyway, wrinkling his nose.

"You don't have to say his name like that," she rolls her eyes.

"Like what?"

“Like he’s a week-old sandwich you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.”

“I’d say a month. I feel like a sandwich might still be edible after a week.”

“You are a _walking hazard._” She makes a face, “_Please _don’t ever eat a week-old sandwich.”

“Five days?”

“This is not a negotiation! How did this turn into a negotiation?” Her brows furrow, her expression a mix of confused and disgusted all at once.

“Three?”

“_If_ it’s been in the fridge.”

“Nice doing business with you,” Landon grins while bumping his shoulder with hers, and she lets out a laugh.

"So? Are you?" he asks again.

"No.”

"But you like him."

"Well.” She takes a breath which extends for longer than necessary. “He has an ego bigger than his head and clearly has never heard of the concept of _rules_ before, but,” her lips purse and move to the side, "Yeah, I guess I do."

He pretends to throw up and Hope rolls her eyes.

"Oh shut up," she throws him his pillow, and he’s too busy laughing to avoid it.

A half-smile finds its way to her lips at the sight of his hair disheveled by her hit, and a thought suddenly crosses her mind.

"You know he thought we were dating?”

That captures his attention immediately, and Landon raises his eyebrows, confusion striking his features.

"What?"

"Yeah," she chuckles. “Funny, right?”

“Weird,” he agrees, and she goes back to her book.

His eyes linger on her features, his brows slightly furrowed, deep in thought. Whatever goes on in his brain can’t seem to reach a proper conclusion, so he puts the foreign feeling inside his chest aside, shakes his head, and returns to his research as well.

* * *

Landon steals another glance a couple minutes down the line, only to have his train of thoughts interrupted by the square in his best friend's shoulders, the pressing of her lips, the furrow in her brows. He can feel it immediately, the waves of worry that wash over her. His hold on his pen tightens before he conscientiously puts it down in the middle of his notebook.

"Hey, Hope?"

"Yeah?" She looks up, frown still on her face.

His eyes trail over her, these features he knows like the back of his hand, these eyes he’s grown up with, this girl he’d do anything for.

"We're going to find her," he nods, his voice firm.

She answers him with a half-smile and softened traits.

But he can still see the crisp in her posture, the white of her fingers that grip onto the book. Her eyes goes back to it, and his stomach turns.

He wishes there was something he could do, to take this weight off her shoulders. But there isn't anything for him to hold but helplessness. So he moves to sit next to her, pressing his arm against hers, and goes back to the pattern he's been trying to make out from the notes he's accumulated for the last few days.

His stare is too focused to catch the way her shoulders relax at the touch.

* * *

It's not like he hasn't noticed the anxiety slowly building up inside of Hope, the frustration that slips in her movements when she thinks he's not looking.

But she drops it so _casually_, her plan of doing the binding spell and the fact that she might die going through with it.

They're walking into Landon's sun-filled room after lunch, and there's something so incongruous about the laughters of students in the hallway and the gravity of the subject at hand, that it takes him a few blinking seconds to assimilate her words.

“Hope, you cannot be serious.”

All the muscles in his body tense up as he stands in front of his bed. Hope shrugs, but there's a hard look on her face as she crosses her arms. He can’t help the thought that this feels an awful lot like talking to a brick wall.

"You could _die_."

“So will my mom if I don’t _do _anything—“

“—We’ll find another way, Hope!”

“There _is _no other way.”

“You don’t know that!”

“We’ve been searching for _days_. My mom has been _taken_ for days. Every moment that passes without us finding her is one where I might lose her.”

There’s poorly concealed desperation in her voice, and if everything inside of him wasn’t overloaded with the panic at the idea of Hope _dying_, maybe he’d pause to approach this differently. But he’s _worried_, and stubborn, so he clenches his jaw and gives her a tough and obstinate look instead.

“And if you do this, I could lose _you._”

His voice barely holds on at the last word, his tone terribly low. (Well, so much for_ tough._)

A beat passes.

“This is my decision to make.”

And there is so much resolution in her eyes and clenched jaw, he feels his insides fold onto themselves.

“I can't let you do this.”

She takes a single breath.

“Too bad that’s not your call to make.”

She leaves his room abruptly and for a single, terrible moment, his entire body is taken over by dread. The thought of a world without his best friend in it is terribly similar to one without light, and in the second that feels like an eternity, the darkness of it almost engulfs him whole. It takes him another for his systems to adjust, for his lungs to slow his breathing, for his brain to clear looking for the next step to take; years of training unfolding mechanically inside of him. Landon rushes to his bedroom door to stop her — God, he _has_ to stop her — and his hand finds the doorknob.

The door rattles, refusing to open a single inch.

His heart stops.

“_No_.”

* * * 

“Hope, _stop_!”

Landon’s voice booms through the forest, the leaves crunching underneath his feet. Freya stops in her tracks towards the fiery pentagram as her niece closes her eyes and lets out an annoyed sigh.

“It’s too late, Landon. I’m doing this.”

“You magically locked me in my room! I had to climb down my _window_ to come here. My room is not on the first floor and I do _not_ have supernatural healing, Hope!”

His entire body shakes with indignation, and it is the only thing standing between his mind and the dreadful thought that he could have run here to find his best friend’s lifeless body amidst these trees.

“That was the point," she snarks, her smile dripping with sarcasm.

“You did what?” Freya finally speaks up, her head tilting to the side as she lays down the moonstone back on the table.

An exaggerated sigh leaves Hope’s lips.

“He was going to stop me.”

“With reason!”

Freya makes her way to the curly-haired boy whose heart is thudding in his chest. He seems to finally take notice of her, but there is no relief brought by her presence. Instead, his finger raises towards her before he throws it towards the ground.

“And how could you let her do this?” His voice is loud and accusatory, but still breaks on that last word, and the witch’s heart breaks a little when she sees the mistiness in his eyes. “You’re willingly going to let her get _hurt? _She could _die_! What kind of reliable adult are you?”

A beat passes as she looks at him and the long limbs he hasn't quite grown into yet. Freya can't help the thought that they are all so _young_. Children caught up in a war that’s so much bigger than themselves.

“Landon," she speaks quietly, "listen to me.”

Her eyes are wide, seeking his, and her voice is steady as she grabs his arms. But he’s still breathing loudly, half from sprinting here and half from the tears he’s holding back.

"If something happens to Hayley and she hasn't done everything she can, she won't forgive—

“—If something happens to _her_, I won't be able to forgive myself," he cuts her, his eyes hard.

"What if it was your mom? What if it was Hope?"

Any semblance of witty remark dies in his throat. Freya sees the wavering in his stare and hates that she's doing this to a child.

“Hope is strong. Right? You know this. You can trust that. You can trust her.”

Landon’s not sure why the urge to cry gets such a grip on him suddenly. But he _hates_ this. He hates that he does know that. That Hope is the strongest person he knows, in more ways than one. That trusting her has always been his final decision in every situation for years. But he can’t keep the thought that it might mean that Hope may _die _and he is _not_ strong enough to—

“You have to trust in her decision to do this, okay? This is her choice to make.”

He bites down his lips, his eyes begging her not to let him agree to this.

“Okay?” she still asks, her eyes insistent.

He closes his eyes when he finally nods.

* * *

He refuses to leave, despite Freya’s obstinate insistence. But his stare remains fixated on the dead leaves of the forest ground as they proceed, his fists clenched in his pockets. He cannot bring himself to look at Hope right now. Not when he knows what's about to happen, not if he has to be here while she's hurting and not do a thing about it.

The older witch goes back to her niece and puts a hand to the side of her head.

"Are you still okay to do this?" she speaks softly.

Freya could see it, the way the desperation and tears in Landon's eyes had clearly shaken her up more than she'd like to admit. Still, she nods firmly, taking a deep breath, and the resolution in her eyes firmly finds its place again.

The rest of the spell unravels, with Freya grabbing the burning moonstone again, her voice chanting the foreign incantation. Landon's nails dig into his palms in an attempt at keeping himself from running between them.

But before the searing stone can touch the tribrid's forehead, a gust of wind rushes by them, coming to a halt right between the Mikaelson witches.

“I will not let my past become your future, do you understand? _Do you understand?_”

Landon's head snaps up at the booming voice, and he recognizes the man immediately.

Klaus Mikaelson.

He recognizes the face from old memories, from Hope's stories, from the way he holds himself in his rage. The age-old hybrid with his best friend’s eyes vociferates as his sister argues back, and Landon doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt so out of place. Through the loud dispute about a family he knows, but not enough, he notices the decaying, the life being sucked away from the vegetation surrounding them.

“The trees…” he whispers under his breath, and it’s only there that the man deigns him a single look, one that says that he’d clearly not even noticed his presence here until then. Freya, who’s caught on to the situation now too, draws his attention again. “You have to go, Klaus. You can’t stay here with Hope.”

The whispers get louder around them, then, and Landon’s eyes immediately shoot towards his friend.

“Hope, listen to me,” Klaus marches towards his daughter, his jaw clenched. “This. Ends. Now.”

It takes half a second for him to disappear, along with both the moonstone and the bowl of Hope’s blood.

A disquieting silence rings in the space he’s left behind.

The shuffling of Landon’s feet cuts through it as he makes his way towards his best friend, their fight feeling trifling in that moment. (That was her _dad_. Of course he would check to make sure she’s okay.) But Hope pushes his hand away, her face hard, before walking away. She’s barely even grazed him, but the touch might as well have scorched through his skin.

Freya puts a hand on his shoulder, and Landon closes his eyes.

He's not sure how his body can be completely fine but still have such an ache permeate everything inside of him.

* * *

“Hey.”

“Hi?”

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

“…I guess.”

Landon’s not sure how he ended up here, in the middle of the empty hallway with _Roman Sienna_ and awkwardness spread thick in the air around them. A few beats still pass as he chews on his own thoughts some more.

“She’s the best person I know,” he finally breaks the silence, and the quiet words fill the entire corridor.

The vampire raises an eyebrow and leans against the wall.

_And I know her, _Landon wants to tell to him, but presses his lips together instead.

_The way she’s too hard on herself and upholds herself to an impossible moral standard. How she pretends to not care about anyone, but would help anybody who needs her in a heartbeat. The way she hates doing nothing when someone needs her, how she’ll do anything for the people she loves. _

But these facts are his to know and his to keep. If Roman is to know any of them one day, it will only be because Hope would have decided to show them to him.

So he swallows all these details about her; her habit of not thinking plans through, the way she doesn’t wash her paintbrushes on lazy days and then regrets it every single time, how she eats pastries straight out of the oven even though she knows it’ll burn her tongue.

"Okay. Thanks for telling me, I guess. Was there a point to this, or?"

Landon has to swallow the anger that jumps at his throat. The hands in his pockets curl into fists and uncurl before he speaks again.

“I’m not going to tell you that I’ll kick your ass if you break her heart, because I think you know by now that she has enough family members that could kill you in a heartbeat,” he shrugs, and then pauses. “But if you want to be with her? Make sure you’re worthy of every ounce of who she is.”

He ignores the cringiness of the words, focuses on the way he means every single one of them instead, holding the vampire’s stare with defiance.

The awaited obnoxious comment never arrives, and instead Roman’s expression turns thoughtful — who knew Roman Sienna was even capable of deep thought —before nodding once.

"Cool," Landon nods back with an exhale. "That's all," he shrugs, feeling awkward again as he turns away to go back to his room.

Two steps in, he turns back abruptly.

“Oh, also. Salted caramel pretzel pieces.”

“What?”

“Snyder’s Salted Caramel Pretzels. They’re her go-to road trip snacks. In case you wanted to know, for tomorrow.”

"How did you know we're—"

"Overheard you,” he shrugs. He thinks back to stepping back from the hallway Hope and Roman were at earlier when he spotted them, the way Hope talked about being_ alone_ in her quest to finding her mom now.

The word still stings as he thinks about it now.

There isn’t a world he can imagine where he wouldn’t be by her side in a heartbeat, but Landon has come to realize you can only be there for someone if they let you. It’s pretty clear that Roman’s the one she wants next to her right now, and Landon cares about her enough to respect that.

(Still. It doesn’t help his heart from feeling like it’s being squeezed out of his chest.)

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

Roman speeds to him and tries to compel him to forget anyway. Landon humours him, because whatever, he's too tired to tell him a lie about vervain, to explain that he's good at keeping secrets, that he has a lifetime of experience at it. He just walks away with his hands in his pockets.

He’s said everything he wanted to say. And he knows that if Roman even does a single misstep, a hoard of Mikaelsons will flow in to make things right.

So why does this all still bother him so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I did have to study for an exam and watched episodes of TO and wrote all day instead! 🙃 Feel free to comment if your heart desires - I also made a cc if you want to chat about fics or legacies or life, if that strikes your fancy (curiouscat.me/sleeplessink) 😌✌️  
Take care, friends!


	5. Chapter Five

"Do you know where Hope is?"

The headmistress's face is stricken with concern from behind her desk. A sliver of guilt appears in Landon's chest, and he quiets it down immediately. Instead, he carefully molds his features into a slight frown and shrugs.

"I don't know, Mrs. Forbes-Salvatore," he grumbles, looking down. "We're not talking right now."

And it's not a _lie_. He doesn't actually know the specifics of where she is, at this particular moment in time.

"Landon," she states, her tone not fully convinced.

"We fought, okay? She doesn't want to see me right now." He lets the bitterness sweep through his voice intentionally.

He doesn't need to do this, twist the truth to make his lie believable. But just because he can deceive anybody into believing anything he says doesn't mean he _likes_ doing it. Inserting a little bit of truth alleviates his guilt, at least in part.

"She's probably in her room or in the woods or something."

The blonde vampire lets out a small sigh. There's a silence that follows, and Landon wonders if this means he can go now. He's about to ask when she beats him to it.

“She’s disappeared along with Roman Sienna and his car.”

He lets his instincts play out the rest, lets out a scoff, shakes his head. “Wow, okay,” he lets out under his breath and adds a clenching of his jaw for good measure. “Is that all? Can I go now?”

“Does that have anything to do with your fight?”

Landon holds the headmistress’ stare for a beat, before answering: “Something like that.” There’s hurt that peaks through his features and it isn’t a crafted lie this time.

Because the truth is this: He cares about Hope. He would move mountains to keep her safe, to be by her side.

And she doesn’t want him to.

Landon swallows, blinks a couple times. “Can I go now?” He repeats, his voice unintentionally weaker this time.

There’s something in the headmistress’ eyes that has gone soft, and she nods.

“Yes, Landon. You can go now.”

* * *

He closes the door behind him with a sigh. During the three seconds his eyes are closed, his thoughts manage to circle back to regrets and worry, to thoughts of Hope in pain and on the verge of death. His eyes shoot back open and he clenches his jaw.

_“I’m on my own as far as getting my mom back is concerned,” _Hope’s voice rings in his head, and the stinging the memory causes also washes out his guilt.

She has made her choice, he tells himself as he walks back to his room with a decided step.

That’s fine.

(The crescent-shaped nail marks in his palms beg to differ.)

* * *

Landon holds his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, closing yet another book on deconstructing spells before rubbing his eyebrow with a sigh.

His mother’s voice speaks through the device.

“I’m still scouring the area, going through surveillance— but nothing yet." He can almost see the pressing of her lips as she pauses, the focus of her stare. "I’ll let Freya know if I find anything."

“Thanks, mom,” he grabs his pen and strikes another word off his list of possible leads, underlining the author right under it. “Keep me updated.”

“I will. And Landon?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

The familiar words makes him smile as he stands up and shoves his small notebook in his pocket.

“You too, mom. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

* * *

He finds himself in the Memorial Library again, going through yet another section he’s already passed through a handful of times. Landon’s pretty sure he could name the majority of the books in there by now. But Hayley’s in _danger_ — worry gnash at his throat at the thought — and he can’t stand around doing nothing. The least he can do is make sure they didn’t overlook anything, that all the alternative routes have been covered.

The majority of the library space is taken up by the Honours Tracking class looking for Hope, with maps and candles and books spread over most of the tables.

“I can’t believe she elopes with vamp charming and _we_ have to do extra homework,” Lizzie Saltzman’s voice cuts through the witches working on the spell, and Landon has to suppress a huff.

“Lizzie, you’re not even in this class,” Josie comments, her eyes still fixed on the book whose contents she’s analyzing at the moment.

“I’m providing you with emotional support!” She protests, turning her nose upwards.

The brunette finally looks up, and lets a beat pass.

“…You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“Those two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive,” her twin answers with a roll of her eyes.

Landon peaks through the bookshelf, and his eye catches sight of another girl with a book open on her crossed legs. The armchair she’s sitting on is far enough that it’s obvious she’s not part of the class either, if it wasn’t already evident by her unbothered demeanour. Still, Penelope Park’s lips seem to feature the slightest of smiles when she speaks up.

“Did you try their phones?”

Josie’s head snap up humorously fast at the sound of her voice.

“Neither of them are answering their calls.”

“No,” she pauses, taking the time to flip a page of her book deliberately. “I meant Find My iPhone. Did you try to track their location through that?”

Josie’s doe eyes blink a few times, and Penelope is _definitely_ smiling now.

“Oh, no. We didn’t think of that.”

“There’s more to life than books and magic, you know," the raven-haired witch shoots her a smirk, and a blush appears on Josie's cheeks. Penelope's gaze lowers back to her book, which Landon heavily suspects she’s not actually reading.

Lizzie catches his stare and narrows her eyes. “Why aren’t _you_ helping?” she shoots at him accusingly.

He comes out from behind the bookshelf with the old manuscript he’d been looking for in his hands. “I’m not a witch,” he frowns at her question. The blonde rolls her eyes, sighing loudly. “There are other ways to help. Do you not care about the disappearance of your girlfriend?”

His grey eyes blink at her. “We’re not dating. And you _just_ said that she _ran away _with a dude, like, a minute ago. Why would you call her my girlfriend?”

She raises an eyebrow, “First of all, listening on other people’s conversations is _rude._ And second of all, you’re avoiding the question.”

Landon sighs, wanting to be done with this conversation already. He’s _this _close to just ignoring her and going to his room, but somehow manages to look to her anyway.

“She doesn’t want to be found. That’s her decision to make. Not mine to intrude on.”

There’s an insistence to his tone that seeps through unintendedly, but the siphon seems oblivious to it as she shrugs and lifts her hands up in surrender. “Okay, wolf-pup. Feel free to resume your previous activities,” she turns away, unbothered.

He shakes his head and grabs the other books he had found with a tighter grip than necessary before heading back to his room.

A brunette with doe eyes looks at him walk away with a curious tilt of her head.

* * *

In the slightest alternate universe, Landon's watch glows yellow as he closes his room door. He calls Hope's phone, the compass makes Caroline and Klaus find her faster, and everyone is saved before Elijah can arrive. She wakes up to a drained mother who has lost of a part of herself, but who's still very much alive.  
  
But this isn’t that universe.  
  
In this universe, Landon rummages through books with a terrible feeling in his chest as he thinks about Hayley with her hands tied somewhere, as he thinks about Hope with a blistering stone on her skin. He calls his mother with his hands fidgeting in anxiety, paces in his bedroom with helplessness suffocating him. His watch remains on his wrist, dull. Meanwhile, his best friend is unconscious on a dusty floor of an abandoned house with a naked wrist as her mother sacrifices herself to save her life.

* * *

It's past midnight when Landon walks back in his room with a mug filled with more sugar than coffee. He's taking a sip to keep it from overflowing when he hears the school's front door click open at the end of the hallway. His eyes lift up at the sound, only to fall upon Freya's silhouette carrying Hope's limp form in her arms.

His breathing stops.

"_Hope_."

He doesn't remember putting his mug away, but he also doesn't remember the sound of porcelain shattering. All he knows is that it takes him five seconds to be by his best friend's side at the other end of the hallway, and his mug-less hands are begging for a sign that Hope is alive.

"She's okay, she's okay," Freya reassures him, but it's only after his fingers have found a pulse against her skin that the witch's voice manages to reach him in his daze.

Landon takes a shaky breath.

"Did she do it?" He asks, putting her hair aside, looking for burnt marks, "the bind—"

“No."

He frowns, giving his best friend's face a closer look. There are no scars in sight. She could look asleep, but there's something slightly off about her expression.

"Then why is she—"

“_Landon_.”

There's a gravity in her tone that makes his thoughts come to a halt, and he finally gets to look at the Mikaelson witch properly. Her eyes are red and her entire expression speaks of pure exhaustion.

"You're tired," he states, mostly for himself. "I'll carry her."

“No Landon, it’s okay, I have a spell that—"

“—Freya, it’s fine. Let me help.”

And she must be really, really tired, because she ends up giving in without much argument. He carries Hope down the hallway and all the way to her room, the air heavy with the dozens of questions that run through his head. He holds her frame closer to him to keep himself from throwing up the exhaustive list of his thoughts.

Landon lays her down delicately on her bed, his gaze lingering ever slightly, before turning around.

“Freya, what happened?”

“Not tonight, Landon,” she closes her eyes for a moment, her breathing unsteady, and his heart drops to his toes.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Freya —the oldest, most powerful witch he knows — ever look so_ frail. _

What _happened ? _

It takes him noticing the weariness that emanates from the witch's body as well as every last ounce of his self-control for Landon to bite down the fifty questions that were just about to unfurl from his tongue.

“Okay,” he nods sharply. "Can I stay? Wait for her to wake up?”

A weak smile appears on her lips, but she shakes her head. “Not tonight, Landon."

He swallows, the uneasiness swirling around in his stomach.

“Okay. I’m just a few doors down if you need me, okay?”

“I know. Thank you, Landon.”

He hates it, the feeling that there is something he should be doing but there being nothing he can do. But mostly, he hates not knowing, and he's not sure how he manages to get back to his room despite the dozen urges to turn back and demand answers that grip him during that short distance.

The door clicks closed behind him, and the rush of adrenaline fuels the next two hours of research, before he passes out in his bed.

* * *

Landon’s body has been lacking too much sleep lately, and it catches up with him the next morning as he wakes up way later than expected. He splashes water on his face and barely brushes his teeth before rushing out of his room in the same wrinkled out clothes he’s fallen asleep in the day before.

He has one hand on the door knob and the other ready to knock when he hears his name being called from behind.

“Landon.”

“Freya,” he turns around, facing the blonde witch holding a glass of water in her hands. “Is she up? Is she okay? How is she?”

“Landon.” She repeats, her voice low, before swallowing. He frowns.

“Hayley is dead.”

He forgets to breathe, for a moment. Thinks he’s heard wrong, thinks he’s still groggy from sleep, thinks— 

“W-what,” he whispers under his breath. 

She takes a step forward and puts a hand on his shoulder before telling him everything. The abandoned house and the binding spell, the Siennas and Hayley’s sacrifice.

And he can _hear _her, but his brain feels like it’s covered in a fog.

Hayley had hugged him, when she had seen him again at the age of nine. She had pulled back the curls by his forehead, told him he had grown up so, asked about his stories. Landon had beamed, and taken out his little notebook from his pocket.

She had invited Landon and his mother over to New Orleans year after year until Seylah was finally convinced it would be safe enough. ("Only for a week," she had replied with a stern look to her son, whose face lit up with delight.)

Hayley had shown him how to make s'mores, had ruffled his hair too many times to count, and had always, always listened.

Landon had noticed the way people looked at her, in the Crescent Pack and in the streets of New Orleans. With admiration and respect. There was an air to the way she carried herself, with authority and kindness, with strength and compassion. His chest had filled with pride at the thought that he _knew_ her.

She was his best friend's mother, but also his mother's friend. Hayley was family.

And now she was dead.

He doesn’t know when Freya stopped talking, but there’s a thick silence that stands between them now. His throat is so tight, the word he says comes out strangled.

“Hope—“

“—Is in her room. She’s up now.”

He nods and turns back around, before a thought makes his knuckles freeze an inch from the door he’s barged through hundreds of times.

For the first time in a long time, he’s not sure what he’s going to find on the other side.

“Landon?” Freya speaks quietly, and it brings him out of his daze.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat with a shake of the head, and knocks a few times before opening the door.

“Thanks, Aunt Freya,” Hope murmurs quietly, her back turned from the door.

He takes a few steps and halts at her words. When there isn’t a response, the tribrid turns around, and their eyes meet.

Hope’s swell up with tears immediately, and he breaches the distance to wrap her in his arms. He can feel her sobs against his shoulder and he just holds her tighter, whispering a trail of apologies. It feels like there’s a gaping hole in his chest, and everything _hurts. _

And yet, despite all of this, the thought crosses his mind: His best friend is here. She’s here, alive and in his arms.

They would get through this. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, realizing there is no proper plot driving this fic and it's literally just a series of elevated headcanons that are posted every three (3) months: ......................huh. *hits post on the next chapter anyway* 
> 
> sup dudes, if you're here reading this, u are a real Trooper™ and i wish u wonderful things (actually, i wish you wonderful things even if you're not reading this, but either way) thank you so much for riding along this chaotic amalgam of words !! there was somewhere i wanted to go with this, once upon a time, but looking back at the idea makes me dissatisfied ?? so i've decided to wing it and just go along with things as they come, and we shall see where this all leads us 😌✌️
> 
> (my schedule is still erratic and incredibly busy, but really though if you're truly reading this after it's been so long, there is lov in my heart for u. thanks so much:'))
> 
> & feel free to hmu on curiouscat @sleeplessink if you want to talk about fics and/or life !! i wish you well ✨


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (it's a short one today, folks!)

“Do you want to talk about it?” Landon’s voice asks through the silence, as his eyes stare up at the ceiling in her room.

His fingers brush against her duvet as he listens to the rhythm of her breathing. For a few additional seconds, that’s all Hope does, remain in the quiet, lying down next to him.

When she speaks, her voice is small, and cracks halfway.

“Not really.”

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

She reaches for him and squeezes his wrist lightly in response.

* * *

He’s not sure how long they stay there, sprawled on her bed, simply existing in each other’s spaces. Minutes. Hours, maybe. But there is comfort there, in the mere presence of the other next to them. It doesn’t ease the ache, but it makes it just a little bit more bearable.

Landon inhales once, and stands up from the bed. Hope turns her head and looks at him with a blank look on her face.

“Let’s go take a walk.”

She blinks at him.

“It’s fresh air. If it doesn’t do any good, it won’t do any bad.”

One side of her lips twitches ever-slightly, and she nods.

“Okay.”

_* * *_

“Wait, just a sec—“ His hand hovers over her shoulder and she halts in front of the kitchen.

He comes back less than a minute later with a Tupperware container and two forks.

Hope raises an eyebrow in silent question.

“You didn’t eat anything this morning, right?”

She shakes her head and mutters, “But I’m not hungry.”

“It’s pie,” he shrugs. “Just take one bite.”

She sighs in response before they pick up their walk towards the exit.

As they make their way through the door, she asks begrudgingly: “What kind is it?”

A knowing smile ghosts over Landon's lips.

“Raspberry.”

_* * *_

She ends up eating more than one bite. There isn't much enthusiasm to the action, but a good third of the big piece he brought still ends up in her stomach, so Landon considers it a job well done.

They look out at the water, their feet dangling off the dock. The fluffy clouds reflect off the lake, the sun warm on their skin.

Hope hates it, how beautiful it can be outside when her world has just ended. Something raw burns under her skin, and she wants to change the entire weather into a storm that wrecks everything she can see. But as the wind starts picking up, she pulls up her legs towards her chest and slides her shaking hands under her knees in an attempt at stilling them instead.

She looks at all these things around her that have stayed exactly the same, the shape of the ripples on the lake, the smell of the conifers, the feeling of the wood under her feet. Her mind tries to make sense of the fact that this same world is one where her mother isn't part of anymore, and she's gripped by a feeling of vertigo.

“It doesn’t feel real,” she finally speaks into the quiet rumbling of the trees and the distant singing of the birds. “She can’t—“ her voice breaks, and she gulps down the tears that were coming up. “It feels like she should still be here.”

Landon swallows, reminds his constricting chest to breathe.

“I didn’t even see her…” she trails off. “I wasn’t even… conscious when she died.” Her eyes drop to the water below her.

“I think she would have liked it better that way,” he speaks quietly, thinking of his introduction class on the vampire species all those years ago, thinking of flames ravaging flesh. He blinks away the horrifying images inside his brain and looks to Hope.

She meets his eyes, and whatever weight he finds in those blue irises makes his heart drop to his stomach.

“Maybe I would have deserved it," she speaks, with a low voice and a smile devoid of humour, the edges of it ragged with fatigue.

Landon’s mouth falls open. Somehow, the words feel like they’ve pierced every inch of his skin at once.

She notices, of course. Landon might be the best liar she knows, but he has always worn his heart on his sleeves. There is nobody Hope can read better than him. And right now, his eyes only show pain.

She has to keep herself from wincing.

“Hope—“

“Sorry,” she blurts out. “I’m sorry.” The apology is oddly earnest. She gives him a reassuring half-smile before putting her chin atop her knees. "I didn’t mean that.”

He frowns, unsure. But she picks up the dishes and stands up before he can think of the right thing to say, offering him a hand.

“The Crescent Wolves are going to give my mom a traditional werewolf sendoff in the Bayou tomorrow,” she tells him as he takes her hand and pulls himself up. “I think Freya called your mom so you both could come.”

“Of course we’ll be there.”

She offers him a small smile.

“Thanks, Landon.”

_* * *_

The next day, Landon and Seylah catch a flight to New Orleans a few hours after Hope and Freya do, their dark clothes matching the somber look on their faces.

The sun is almost done setting when Lisina welcomes them into the woods with a hug. Their feet crunch on dead leaves as they make their way towards the docks, grief filling all the possible space for conversation.

Landon realizes with a heavy heart that everything his eyes land on carry Hayley's presence. He had only come to visit for a few summers, but all his memories of this place had the hybrid in them. She was in the lit out fires, the clothes pins swinging on the clotheslines, the huddled, mismatched chairs. His feet walk next to the sturdy tree he tried to climb with Hope while her mother watched warily from a distance, the battered boat they took out after Landon had asked her to too many times, the large logs they would sit on during evening camp fires.

His throat swallows down tears and his hands dig inside the pockets of his blazer as his body unconsciously moves closer to his mother. He looks up to her, wonders if she feels as fragile as he does right now.

But her eyes are looking straight forward, unflinching, and the steadiness in her gaze helps him find his footing.

* * *

He finds Hope’s eyes through the crowd in less than a minute. She finds his a handful of seconds later.

_I’m here,_ his gaze speaks silently.

Her lips turn up ever slightly in response.

_I know. Thank you._

* * *

_"People will forget the things you said, forget the things you did, but no one ever forgets the way you made them feel. Hayley Marshall made me feel like I was part of a family."_

  
Freya speaks onto this congregation of people that loved her as they hold up torches in the night, like a quiet protest of memory, like a promise that they will not forget no matter how dark it gets.

Landon holds on to his mother’s hand tightly, like he never wants to let her go.

_"And when the realities of this life became too much to bear, we shouldered them together. We laughed, we cried. When I failed, she lifted me up. And when I succeeded, she danced by my side. And she did that for all of us. No one will ever be able to replace her, or heal the pain we feel at her loss."  
_

He lets the tears fall silently, staying terribly still, like if he doesn’t move, no one will notice the way his heart is in pieces.

(His mother notices. He knows by the way her head tilts his way right before the grip on his hand tightens ever slightly.)

_"But we can honour her with our actions and with our words. We can love each other the way she would've wanted us to love."_

Landon lets go of his mother's hand to wrap his arms around her side instead as they watch the burning boat carry away Hayley's remains. All-too quietly, he wipes all of his tears away while Seylah kisses the top of his head.

* * *

Landon notices it immediately, the moment Klaus Mikaelson enters the premises. He knows his mother does too, by the way her body tenses up at the same time as his straightens.

He doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until Hope smiles at her dad and he lets himself exhale. The thunder rumbles and the lighting flashes around them, and Landon keeps his eyes on his best friend. He doesn't let his gaze waver, even as everyone begins walking away to find shelter, even as his mother gently tugs him away.

"Just a minute," he mumbles with a shake of the head, and Seylah nods in understanding. "Don't stay out too long," she answers nonetheless, ever the watcher.

He waits until the lake catches fire, until Klaus is gone, until Hope has torn her tear-stricken eyes away from the place where her father had stood a minute earlier. Only then does he tentatively make his way by her side, absentmindedly taking off his blazer to cover her bare shoulders.

Hope exhales a sad smile and wipes the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hands when she catches sight of him, before accepting the piece of clothing. He responds with a hug.

"Hey," he whispers against her hair.

"Hey."

They stand there in silence for the length of a handful of breaths, wrapped in each other's arms. When they part, Hope lays her head on his shoulder, both of them looking at the fire consuming the last remains of the boat in front of them. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't push to talk. He knows she will if she needs to, when she’s ready.

"I'm going to stay in New Orleans for a while," she finally speaks, lifting her head back up.

"That's good," he offers her a half-smile. "Did you want me to stay too?"

It takes a beat for her to react, for her blank stare to melt into the softest smile.

_Of course he would ask. _

"I think I'll be okay," she shakes her head. "I've got my family."

"Okay. Call me if you need anything?"

The words are familiar on his tongue, the phrase rhetorical in the frame of their relationship. She already knows, that he's only ever a call away. That's the way it's always been. The circumstances would never change that.

But her eyes shift away right before she nods.

"Yeah, of course. I'll talk to you later," she tells him, and her eyes don't quite meet his as she takes off his blazer and gives it back.

In another setting, he would think twice about these cues, these mannerisms that stick out from her usual demeanour. But they've just said goodbye to her _mother_, and his own chest feels heavier than he ever remembers it weighing. So his mind only finds space to worry about her grief.

"Yeah, I'll talk to you later," he replies simply instead, folding the blazer atop his arm before sneaking in one last hug.

A small part of his mind insists on him staying, pushing for something he can't quite put his finger on, but he quiets it down without much thought.

Weeks later, he would think of this moment and wonder if he should have asked more questions. If he had given her an extra minute, would she have told him about the curse she was planning on letting back inside her body? Would she have told him about the weight of her world that pressed upon her shoulders, and let him bear a part of it?

But these questions were still days and days away.

"_I'll give her time_" is the last thought that crosses his mind before he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi !! sorry for the shorter and slower chapter !! there’s a definite delimitation between what happens until this chapter and after, so i thought i would end it here; things from here on out might feel a little different for... Reasons. 😶
> 
> p.s. those lil scenes in the beginning were just supposed to be for me to situate myself, but i ended up just keeping them because i realized one of them was relevant for the story i’m trying to tell and the rest are just cute, albeit somewhat useless askjdfk. (i just love best friends who find comfort in simply being in each other’s spaces !!!) anyway, none of this work makes any sense still but i’m grateful y’all indulge me and read it anyway, bless all of ur hearts <3
> 
> feel free to drop some thots below, also i'll be @ curiouscat.me/sleeplessink if u feel like chatting!!
> 
> hope you're all staying safe !! x


	7. Chapter Seven

A few months after Landon had first arrived to the Salvatore School at nine years old, they had learned about pyromancers in class and his recurring nightmare about a towering winged creature had come back. He'd had it dozens of times over the last few years so when he woke up in sweat, he could practically hear his mother’s voice.

_“Deep breaths, Landon. Slow down your breathing and listen. Are you in danger?” _

He hiccuped and coughed, taking gulps of breath to slow his heartbeat down. He forced his ears to listen, and heard the wind blowing against the window, the buzzing of appliances, his own heaving.

No danger.

“Landon?” A small voice spoke, and he jumped.

When he had turned on his bedside lamp, he saw a tired-looking girl through his door that was cracked open.

“Hope?” he asked before furtively wiping his wet cheeks, embarrassed.

She didn't seem fazed though, and simply walked in.

“I get nightmares too,” she stated simply, looking at her toes.

With the world quiet around them, they spent the next few hours on his bed sharing her mug filled with warm milk and honey, whispering about the fears that came to meet them at night.

Landon talked about a world on fire, about burning things falling around him while he was frozen in place. About glowing orange eyes and scales upon scales ready to blow him away.

Hope talked about waking up to lost time in a haze of blue light, about having someone else inside her skin. About her crying out to her father and him never coming back.

The conversation turned lighter the more tired they got, into what flying would feel like and what animal would be the best if they could have wings.

“Elephant, duh. Didn’t you watch Dumbo?”

“Those were his ears!”

They fell asleep sprawled in his bed, dreams void of any blue lights or orange eyes. Just flying cats and horses and elephants, and the feeling of jumping on clouds.

* * *

A fifteen year-old Landon sits up in his bed and glares at the electronic clock on his bedside table.

The numbers_ 2:13_ blink back at him in the dark and he lets out frustrated groan.

"Screw you, insomnia," he mumbles underneath his breath.

He picks up the magical watch on his bedside table, lets his thumb graze the hands and thinks of another bracelet several states away. (He thinks of how all he wants to do is talk to his best friend right now, thinks of how every nightmare has always stopped being so scary when she was by his side.)

He puts the object back in its place with a sigh.

_She'll call if she needs anything she'll call if she needs anything she'll call if she needs anything—_

His fingers tap against his covers, restless, before picking up his phone.

"_Hey. You up?_" he writes, before backspacing on the words.

_"I miss her." _

Backspace.

_"I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about"_

Backspace.

_"I wish you were here." _

He stares at the words for a beat before shaking his head, turning off his screen and letting the device fall face down on his mattress. Running a hand over his face, he pushes his covers to the side before getting off his bed.

* * *

Landon halts right at the kitchen's doorframe as he notices someone is already there. It takes him an additional second to realize it's Josie Saltzman.

He genuinely considers going back to his room; he is _not_ in the mood for snarky banter, and Hope has always been better at that part anyway. But it seems stupid to go back to his bed empty-handed when he's already gotten up in the first place, so he settles on ignoring her instead.

Landon walks in, takes out a mug and pours himself a glass of milk. He can see from the corner of his eye that the siphoner has frozen at his sudden appearance, but he simply proceeds to put the mug in the microwave.

"...Couldn't sleep?" she finally speaks, her voice cutting through the buzzing of the appliance.

"Mm-hm," he replies noncommittally, his gaze set on the brown and beige mug turning round and round. He waits for the taunt, the snarky comment.

It never comes.

"...You?" he gives in, turning the question around as he stops the microwave a second before the timer reaches zero.

"Trying to stay awake, actually."

He turns to look at her with an eyebrow raised and the mug of hot milk in his hands.

Her tired eyes blink at him as she brings the cup of black tea to her lips. He notices the plate filled with freshly cut apples and peanut butter sitting on the counter next to a half-eaten dark chocolate bar.

"Why?"

“I’m studying for the History of Magic exam for tomorrow,” she takes another sip out of her mug. “I’m almost done, just need to quiz myself one last time. Thought I’d get some brain food before I do."

“Didn't peg you as a last-minute type."

She frowns, her cheeks red, before fixing her gaze on the kitchen tiles. Seconds pass as she bites the inside of her cheeks.

“I’m not, usually. My parents are out of town, and..." she trails off.

“And?"

“Uh. Lizzie needed me tonight. I stayed with her until she fell asleep."

It'd be easy, to throw her a snarky comment here. His brain's used to the pattern, and it's only at an arm's reach. But Landon's always been good at noticing things. And he sees the way she's clutching on her mug, the chewing of her lips, the look in her eyes that say she's miles and miles away. The odd display of vulnerability makes him halt.

The only thing that's heard for a few seconds is the clatter of utensil against ceramic as he mixes honey into his milk. Once he's put the spoon in the sink, he turns towards her and catches her eyes.

“Do you need any help studying?"

The surprise at his suggestion is evident in the way she almost chokes on the bite of chocolate she's just taken.

“What?" she manages to let out in between two coughs.

“You said you just had to quiz yourself, right? I can quiz you if you'd like."

Josie just blinks at him, doe-eyes wide.

They end up speaking up at the same time.

“I mean, unless you don't need me to—"

“Oh, you don't need to do—"

He frowns.

“Well, would it help?"

“I mean, sure, but… why would you want to?”

“I can’t sleep,” he shrugs. And if he’s being completely honest, a part of him really appreciates the distraction.

A beat passes before she speaks up again.

“Okay.”

* * *

“_And—_ we’re done,” Landon exaggeratedly flips the last flashcard facedown before shaking his fist in victory.

He expects some kind of smile, at least. Or a quip about how lame he is, maybe. But all he sees is an anxious frown on Josie’s face as she stares down at the notes in front of her.

“Maybe I could read over the material one last time—“

“Josie.” He takes the notebook away from her to force her to look at him. “You’re gonna be _fine._ You could probably write en entire essay about the history of the Salem Witch Trials and their repercussions on the construction of the womanhood and domesticity by the bourgeois in your _sleep_ — which is something you should get, by the way.”

“But—“

“Nope. I am taking these,” he flaps the pack of flashcards. He catches her gaze being drawn to the textbook, and he steals it away before she can. “And this.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off before she can.

“I _did_ the exam last year, Saltzman. _And_ passed,” he adds the last part before she can contest. “You'll be fine. And you need _rest _if you want to actually be able to _take _the final tomorrow.”

A beat passes where they hold each other's stares.

“Fine,” Josie finally sighs in resignation.

A silence falls upon them, one that reminds them of the late hour of the night and how the entire school is presently in the land of dreams. Landon is suddenly acutely aware of the eeriness of this entire situation: them being in the same space without animosity, feeling something that actually feels like _ease _instead. It makes him uncomfortable just thinking about it.

“Um,” Josie breaks the silence. She seems to feel the return of the awkwardness as well. “Thanks for helping me study. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

She stands up from her chair and extends her arms silently. He catches on and gives her back her material.

“I promise I won’t touch these before tomorrow morning.” Her eyes are tired, but there’s still a semblance of a glint in them.

_“_Good,” he smiles.

He gathers the empty plates and mugs, ready to leave, when her voice interrupts him.

“Landon?”

“Hm?”

“I’m, um. I’m sorry about Hope’s mom. I know your families were close.”

His hand stills, one mug hanging mid-air, and it feels like everything inside of him freezes, the cold spreading to his extremities. Something presses against his chest, and his focus is set on making his breathing as controlled as possible.

“Yeah,” he manages to let out, as his body remembers how to move again and picks up the remainder of the dishes. When he meets her eyes, he’s worked up a smile to appear on his lips. It feels like the only solid part of his entire being. “Good luck on your final tomorrow. Good night, Josie.”

“Good night.”

* * *

_"I wish you were here." _

The words he typed on his phone earlier stare back at him in the dark of his room. He takes a shaky breath, and lets his thumb press on the white arrow on his screen.

Locking his phone and laying it back down on his bedside table, he swallows in an attempt at getting rid of whatever’s stuck in his throat.

It doesn’t work.

A single sob espaces his lips, and he forces his breathing to quiet down immediately.

He takes a deep breath, slows his heartbeat down. He forces his ears to listen, and hears the wind gently blowing against the window, the different appliances buzzing at different frequencies, his own controlled breathing.

No tangible danger.

But there is also no girl standing through his door ready to lay down next to him until they both fall asleep, nobody to talk to about the flames he sees when he closes his eyes.

(They’re not from the jaws of a winged creature, this time. They dance on a boat surrounded by heavy hearts, consume skin upon skin under a bright sky.)

He quiets the voice inside his head that recites a list of alternate strings of events, of things he could have done.

Instead, Landon chooses to remember the kindness in hazel eyes, the authority in the square of shoulders, the care in the ruffling of fingers. He chooses to remember despite the ache in his chest.

(He thinks of a girl hundreds of miles away, and worries about the ache in her chest.)

“I wish you were here,” he mumbles into the dark.

The dark does not answer back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whop— another short one today, folks! 
> 
> i've realized recently that this au has existed for like, a year now. and this fic's still not done ajsdlkjadf (ah, my inability to sit down to work consistently coexisting with my stubbornness to finish things no matter what my feelings about said thing become — what a combination!) 
> 
> i've been trying to string together the sparse events and scenes i have in my brain and in my notes app into something that makes a minimum of sense — none of this fic really does, though ajkdlsf. still, i thought i'd post a bit of it that's been written for a while ! 
> 
> thank you for reading if you're still here, i really am so grateful for every single comment and viewing !! hope everyone is staying safe and well x
> 
> (always on curiouscat.me/sleeplessink if u feel like chatting 😌✌️)


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